Pinnacle of Chaos
by Sadarus
Summary: Ever since the creation of the third spirit portal, Korra's world has seen fantastical change. But the eyes of darkness are hungry for despair. New challenges await Korra and... Aang? A dark and shadowy boy, a mysterious organization, diamond creatures with a terrible intent, and a mastermind known only as "Neir" are threatening the balance of the world, and time is running short.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

Zaheer could barely see through the murky green of his spacious cavern, and hearing was completely out of the question. Isolated from the outside world, incarcerated deep within a mountain cell, he sat high within the air, mediating from atop a circle of chains which grounded him to the hard stone floor. He could feel dull spiritual energies surround him like a swarm of fireflies, their dimness a testament to the wretched emptiness of this miserable place. Usually, he would tap into these ethereal energies—escaping from his morbid fate and into the freedom of the aether realm, if not for a short little while.

Because of his cell's lack of charge, an incorporeal trip to the nonmaterial plane was a feat likely impossible for the average human, and this included the avatar. But _he_ was different, a prodigy of spiritual understanding, and a master of the wind. It had been only three years since the successful release of his final earthly tether and self-liberation from the metaphorical chains that constrained his abilities, and prevented him from unleashing his fullest potential. And oh, how free he had felt! The limits giving way, the tides clearing, his mind opening—yes!—he had become like a god of the sky!

Rocketing high into the air, soaring majestically through the wind, fighting on par with the _avatar_. Albeit in retrospect she _was_ dying from mercury poisoning—_but still_—to think that he, a mere human, had been able to battle with the reincarnation of Wan, as an equal… unthinkable before, exhilarating then, memorable now. His power was truly an amazing and most righteous gift.

Of course, his common preference was to keep the gloating to a bare minimum, and reveal to his enemies only a calm and frighteningly placid demeanour. But when retreating to the solitude of his (intellectually practiced) mind he could relish his achievements in spades. And it was with his psyche that he procured the most vicious of his plans, his most insidious ideas—well—at least that was what they were to others. From his perspective, the concepts he formulated were nothing more than a means to an end, something he could use to further the cause of chaos, and the agenda of the Red Lotus. Indeed…. The Red Lotus.

He recalled his days in _Iglend_, before his life was transformed and path set. He remembered how he had worshiped the avatar like so many before him.

But he, and all those like him, had been brainwashed fools. Heck, even the avatar himself had become a brainwashed, pious, self-worshiping narcissist. How could he have let the United Republic build a statue in his honour…? Disgraceful! All of the avatars, once thought to be equal, would now be compared to this egotistical young twat. And although he may not have felt this at the time… this, _this_… _anger_, he most certainly recognized it now. Aang had even perverted the purpose of the White Lotus. No longer were they the shadowy society that explored the sophistication and beauty of the arts. They too had fallen, becoming the sheep of the abusive shepherd.

And all those years ago, to think that he had actually believed the Avatar stood for something other than the promotion of propaganda and political subjugation. Allowing the corrupt powers to encroach upon the people's freedoms and widen the spread of their jurisdiction—unforgivable! Yes, unforgiveable! But his ignorant life had changed the moment he began to open his eyes. The moment he began to walk across the slums of Ba Sing Se for himself. The moment he watched, with his own two eyes the mutilation, murder, and rape of the parentless children whose only source of income was their job working in the toxic diamond mines. He would never forget that girl, so young, so carefree, who he had watched receive a bludgeoning to death at the hands of a drunken palace guard. As he attempted to intervene, he was jumped by Earth Kingdom soldiers, who arrested him under a frivolous charge, locking him in the palace jail for what would be two long, and tiresome years. Thinking back on it, this had been the first of his ironic confrontations with the 'justice system,' as well as experience with the corruption and politics of monarchy...

It was here that he had met P'li, working under a general in the king's army.

This general had been planning a coup for quite some time, and was quite lucky to have the world's most _special_ firebender as his puppet slave. Staging P'li as an assassin, the general had planned for her to enter the throne room concealed in a shroud during the birthday of Boscow, the royal bear. The intention was for her to blow the king's head to crimson smithereens during the ostrich-penguin tap dance. Since P'li's range of fire was invisible, no one would know who had committed the deed.

Looking back on it, Zaheer realized that this may not have been the most eloquent of plans, but it was most certainly a statement, if not a testament to the general's sick sense of humour. Fortunately for Zaheer, P'li also acted as a jail guard, one of her many duties being the observation of inmates. Seeing her for the first time, Zaheer felt an instant physical attraction, and a longing to feel her soft, supple skin against his hard, grubby hands. Such livid distractions were all well and fine when maintained under a firm mental control, but being stuck in a small cell for over a year had not done wonders to his subtlety, let alone complexion. They did talk though, the first conversation being awkward and one-sided. But as day passed to week and week passed to month, their routine slowly changed.

A connection sparked between them, and the chemistry was fascinating, Zaheer having never experienced anything quite like it. When around her his mind and body became hypersensitive to their surroundings, as if a load of steel were being bent from his heavy head. Speaking to P'li, he knew that he had found his physical and intellectual equal. They matched each other in every debate, every arm wrestle (the bars of his cell were surprisingly wide), and every philosophical contest. Inevitably, with every word they spoke and laugh they shared, the threads of their fate began to weave together into tighter and more rigid strands, spiralling them towards an unprecedented romance. Eventually, they realized this growing connection, and acted upon their passion. Convincing her to abandon her life as a slave to her totalitarian master, both he and she escaped the palace and Ba Sing Se, starting a new life together. Not before blowing the general's head clean off its socket, of course.

This new life was a good one. But unlike other couples, Zaheer and P'li shared a similar vision, a perception of the world that held each life equal to the value of one, and where man's freedom was his most universal right. Freedom to speak, freedom to act, and freedom to think.

Zaheer's reminiscing came to an abrupt halt as he suddenly remembered his current predicament. He frowned irritably, sighing as he furrowed his brow.

Oh how wished he could enter the spirit world. But the energies had not yet accumulated and reached the necessary threshold. Even for a man like him, in a place as damnably material as here there was no telling when asomatous transfiguration would be possible. And the wait was certainly anything but fun. In hindsight he supposed that he shouldn't have been complaining. Between getting fed twice a day and being capable of travelling on occasional metaphysical vacations, the 'imprisonment' was an undeniable upgrade from his previous incarceration. Indeed, he was most grateful for…

He could hear something. A banging, a thud maybe. It was coming from outside. Normally Zaheer could hear only the stillness of the air and undulating breaths that he rhythmically exhaled from his mouth. However, when obnoxiously loud enough, he could hear just well enough to make out the muffled voices of yelling guards as they entered the thicket of argument. On rare occasions such as these Zaheer would note their speech patterns and keep this information padded away for the future. But this time was different, it was almost as if… there was an actual fight, a bending battle taking place. No, that was ridiculous. Such a thing couldn't possibly be happening here, his sanctuary, much to his distaste, was the most heavily guarded area in the world.

And that's when he heard the loudest of screeches. He strained to listen as he moved to the farthest edges of his abominable circle, his eyes gazing down to look upon the metallic door not but a few feet away. Although such a thing was meant to keep him in, he couldn't help but to think of how ironically _he_ currently wanted for the door to _not_ come crashing down. His eyes widened as he saw a dent, no two, mark themselves on its crumbling surface. Floating backwards, Zaheer inhaled calmly as he lingered in nervous anticipation of whatever awaited him on the other side. He closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together, appearing as if in meditation. _Could this be a member of the Red Lotus come to set me free? The avatar? A protestor? An ally? An enemy?_

It was then that the door was flung open, collapsing to the floor with a massive clang. Dust rose from the ground and enshrouded the visitor in a cloak of dirty darkness. Through the blackness beyond, Zaheer could make out two, pulsating, circular purple eyes. They bore into him with a luminosity like hellfire, but a stillness like death.

Pausing for only a second, the figure strode out from the void of brown, revealing itself in all its putrid and obscene glory, its horrifying demeanour only outmatched by the…

It was a boy. A child no older than ten years of age. He was carrying a stuffed animal bear underneath his left arm, and his eyes were no stranger than that of any youngsters. The airbender's eyebrows rose quizzically as the boy smiled a wide, happy grin. Despite this cute entrance, Zaheer could not help but to feel unsettled by the child's unnatural presence.

Red-blonde hair fell into a freckled face, black, colourless eyes a dull, opaque hue. And the boy just _stared_ at him, smiling and giggling as he clutched his toy bear, grasping it like he was holding a valuable gem.

"I take it you're no ordinary boy," Zaheer spoke calmly, his eyes never leaving the figure in front of him.

At first there was a pause. No response to the hanging question. But then there was that smile again, that evil, malicious grin.

"Such intelligence," the child responded in a juvenile voice, "I was eager to meet you before, Zaheer of the _Red Lotus_… _but_ _now_…"

Zaheer nodded to that, scratching his bearded chin with a rising interest. Closing his eyes, he spoke next.

"I doubt that you've come here to kill me, as I suppose if you did, you would have done so by now."

The boy laughed loudly, clapping his hands together with something akin to a drunken gaiety.

"Oh wow, you're much smarter than the usual mercenary trash. Not that I ever considered you a mercenary, Zaheer of _Iglend_."

Zaheer's eyes openly narrowed, clearly impressed by the boy's perceptive nature.

"How do you know where I hail from?" Zaheer asked with something more than innocent curiosity.

"I know a lot about you, Zaheer. And I also know of your hatred for the avatar, and your quest to bring about _chaos_. I am eager to free you, and explain my plans in full. But first, I must ascertain where your loyalties lie."

"What is it you want? Me to work for you?" Zaheer said in a bemused tone, keeping his calm and staying with the pace of the fast conversation, "I think it would look a little strange. And besides, you seem to know so much about me, and I so little about you."

The boy ran his free hand down his face, tugging at his hair as he closed his large, young eyes.

"And that can be easily remedied. But first, I must learn about your passion. Has it survived with you during your long and arduous journey across the sands of fate? Do you still share the same vision for a new and unpredictable world? Do you still yearn to fight for _chaos_?"

"If you knew anything of my ideologies, you'd know that chaos is just a means to an end... I am still a man of culture. Do not oversimplify my faith. It is only in anarchism, the flames of the uncertain, where mankind can truly find its liberation from the hands of their selfish and cowardly leaders."

"Of course, but is it not safe to assume that your hatred for the avatar stems from some more—_personal_ experiences?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"You were angry that she wouldn't join you. Upset that she didn't share in your dream, your vision. Like Avatar Aang before her, she has strayed from the heart, and into a tradition carved from the foundations of exploitation and reproachable ethics, a tradition of which can only lead to a most surely inevitable ruination. Of all our faith in uncertainty, it is in this, that I think we are both quite certain."

Zaheer was bewildered, and perhaps slightly unhinged by this boy's vast knowledge of events and ideas which he should have frankly known nothing about. This was a child—these words that spewed from his mouth were an impossibility! Yet here he was, leader of the Red Lotus, speaking about the fate of mankind and their self-destructive course with someone who had barely left their mother's womb. Or at least, that's what his eyes were telling him. His intuitive nature, his insightful mind, was telling him something else.

"I'm impressed by how much you know. Obviously there's more going on here than I am being let on. And you know what I think? I think that if I allow myself to trust you, it will be I and I alone who will come to regret that decision."

The boy's smile did not fade.

"So smart. So careful. Truly a man of good judgement. But tell you what—I want to make a deal with you. Give me one day—twenty four hours to convince you of my honesty, and reliability. During this vital time, I will reveal to you my design. After this, it will be up to you to decide whether or not you wish to join me. Whatever your final decision, you will have ultimately been freed from a lifetime of confinement, and thereby only stand to gain."

Zaheer pondered this deal, weighing its potential consequences. After a moment of deliberation, he made the obvious choice.

"Okay, go ahead, you can free me."

There was a smirk pasted on Zaheer's smug and intelligent face. The boy was speaking the truth. He did only stand to gain.

The child grinned.

"But a word of caution," Zaheer said with a sternness entering his stolid voice, "Double cross me, in any way, and you'll deeply regret having ever set me free."

There was silence. Absolute, and perfect stillness.

The boy sneered darkly, his sclera suddenly glowing a bright, nefarious violet.

"Okay Zaheer, I'll free you. But be warned. Betray me, _and_…"

Zaheer's mouth dried as he attempted to swallow, his eyes hardening with tension.

"Then we understand each other," Zaheer spoke with a voice no louder than the softest of whispers.

**_"_****_YES."_**


	2. PC: Chapter 1: Part 1

**Chapter 1: Part 1:**

_Three years ago…_

Tenzin was not acting like his usual mundane self. He was obviously afraid, terrified even—in some kind of absurdly ludicrous way.

"Tenzin, for the last time, if you don't get me away from this place I swear I'll never be able to wash this smell out of my jacket!"

Tenzin regarded Lin with something between a snort and shrug as he shallowly dodged her dagger-like gaze. Humming nonchalantly to himself, the airbending master lifted Rohan out from his tiny cot, poking his thick brown diapers with a horrified expression forming on his greening face.

"Oh for heaven's sake Tenzin, stop prodding him like he's a spinach salad, just do what I do and pray that it will all be over soon."

"Thanks," Tenzin grumbled, "For the encouragement."

The ex-councillor sniffled as he tore the diaper off, a putrid, ungodly smell sizzling up from within the confines of the crib. He gulped back a dribble of vomit as he moved speedily to remove the source of the air pollution. After throwing the diaper into a nearby trash bin, he retrieved a fresh one along with disinfectant wipe.

"Not that!" Lin exasperated as she grabbed the wipe from Tenzin's trembling fingers, her eyes rolling in a kind of stupefied unbelief.

"Then _what_, Lin!? _What!?_" Tenzin beseeched, grabbing the tuffs of Lin's shirt with his dirtied hands, staining her uniform as he pleaded her aid, "What must I do!? I can't take this anymore! I need Pema! Pema! I need—,"

"Oh for the love of—," Lin said as she shoved Tenzin onto his butt, "Grow a little _backbone_ will you? We're not fighting triads or evil dark _spirity_ mumbo jumbos—it's just your kid's shit."

"Fine," Tenzin retorted with a smugness, "If you think it's so easy then why don't you just do it yourself?"

"I came here on police business, Tenzin. Not to change your kids diapers. It was you who dragged me into this deranged mess of yours."

"Be that as it may," Tenzin said with a huff, eyes narrowing, "Are you telling me _you don't have backbone?_"

To this, Lin grabbed the thresh pair of diapers, mumbling to herself as she mulled over her ridiculous pride. Recovering toilet paper from the nearby lavatory, she approached the crib with serious strides. Lifting the diaper like a sword, and clutching the toilet rolls like a shield, she descended into the dragon's lair, the stench of its breath amplified with every bend closer to its fetid, bacteria-infested mouth. There was a pause… Then another… And another… Until there was a flurry of movement!—a whirl of erratic hands, long and awkward strokes—all of which culminated into a melodious "EW EW EW!"

The deed was done.

Lin dashed over to the powder room with the speed she used to hunt escaped convicts, eager to clean her rancid hands—Tenzin smiling with obvious satisfaction. As she emerged from the place of washing, she approached the airbender with an angry glare shaping her unamused face.

"_Never_," she spat grabbing Tenzin by his collar, "_Again_."

_The Present, The Day Zaheer Escapes..._

"So Lin, remember the last time you were here on _police_ business?" chuckled Tenzin before straightening his back and coughing his professional cough.

"Oh yah, it was _real_ fun—quite the blast," spoke Lin icily, gritting her teeth upon simple re-visualization of the hideous memory.

"Um, well, yes," said Tenzin shifting uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to regain his recognizably impassive composure.

"Was that supposed to be your attempt at humour?"

"I've been practicing for weeks," he admitted.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"You're bad."

"I know."

Another pause. Clearing her throat, Lin began to speak.

"So the reason I've come is—,"

_"Hey daddy? What's Lin doing here?"_

The diminutive figure of Ikki jumped out from the shadows of the kitchen corridor with enough zeal to scare an elephant-lion.

"Oh, hi Ikki, we didn't see you there," replied Lin listlessly, "Would you mind if…"

"Ikki, I thought I told you to wait for my cue? You really are a worthless maggot of a soldier," spoke the recognizable voice of the self-proclaimed _supreme general of the sofa._

"Meelo, apologize to your sister," ordered Tenzin, his gaze shifting momentarily away from Lin, "It's not nice to call people—,"

"It's your fault for playing with him, Ikki," replied the carefree voice of Jinora, materializing within the kitchen in her astral form, effectively startling everyone there.

"Jinora—for the _last_—_ugh!_—how many times have I told you _not _to teleport in people's faces!—IT'S _just _RUDE!" yelled Tenzin, who, for a moment, lost his characteristic cool.

"Sorry daddy, but I could hear voices downstairs and…"

"There are no excuses for unprecedented behaviour—,"

Ikki then punched Meelo on the arm, eliciting a violent reaction from her brother. Fartbending a current of air into her face, Meelo yelled a war cry as Ikki retaliated by swirling high speed air slices with her feet. She released them in a volley of punches and kicks, sending her brother clambering to the ground. Meelo lost his temper (something that, in retrospect, was never actually misplaced by Meelo), and ran towards his sister with hands curled to fists. She prepared for the assault by unsheathing her sharp fingernails, and they proceeded to punch and slice—sibling trying to murder sibling as quickly and inefficiently as inhumanely possible.

Tenzin stood from his chair.

"BOTH OF YOU, STOP THIS AT ONCE!"

"It seems that you have trouble controlling your hell spawn," remarked Lin with a sniff.

"Hey!" wailed a hurt Jinora.

"Not you."

Tenzin turned to Lin, preparing a rebuke, but instead decided against it, slapping himself in the forehead as he sighed with frustration.

"Let me handle this," Lin said, not bothering to wait for permission as she released her metallic rope, encircling the two squabbling monkeys in a mess of wire.

"No fair!" moaned Meelo, "We weren't done yet!"

"That's enough you two," Tenzin said sternly, lifting his children and dumping them on the staircase a few feet away, "Now don't disturb your father again."

Jogging back to Lin, Tenzin took his empty seat, slumping into his chair with a melodramatic exhale. Jinora disappeared after this, leaving him and the chief alone.

"You were saying, Lin?" Tenzin inquired as the metal-encased Ikki and Meelo began to silently tumble down the stairs.

"Yes…" she replied cautiously, eye's scouting the area to make sure the coast was clear, "It's about the bending triads, actually."

"I see."

"Well, I suppose I'm here more because of the, well, _lack_ of bending triads."

Tenzin went momentarily mute.

"Well… that's great news," replied Tenzin unenthusiastically, "Except for the part where…"

"I don't have a job?"

Tenzin hesitated.

"Yes."

"Well, it looks like we won't have to be worrying about that, not yet anyways. Seems that crime doesn't just _stop_."

"I see, so… in other words—there are new _players_ in town."

"Yes, always bigger fish in the sea I'm afraid. The problem is, I don't think these guys understand that the bigger eating the smaller fish is just an _expression_.

"The triads, all of them… they're most sinister and infamous names… Lightning Bolt Zolt, Harry Larry, Morgan De'Cuspes—the victims were all found deceased in their headquarters at time 11:06 PM, date of last Saturday. The physical location: a mansion tagged number 43 off Beifong Lane, in the north district. Funny thing is, we had been tracking the whereabouts of their HQ for some months now, and when we finally managed to stage our break in, we were already too late. Seems like someone beat us to the catch."

"So they were all killed by… some unknown assailant?" Tenzin asked incredulously.

"Yah, but that's not all, look here."

Lin retrieved a tiny piece of parchment from one of her uniform's many pockets, unfolded it, and then shoved it onto the table.

Holding the picture in place with his left hand, Tenzin eyed the photo curiously, pondering its cryptic symbolism. _What kind of drawing was that? The killer had delineated geometric shapes on the wall with chalk?_

"Whatever does it mean?"

"If only we knew. We do have a few theories. Most of them you won't like hearing. But they all do point to the same clear, if not obvious, conclusion."

Tenzin eyed Lin patiently.

"It's a cult. We think it's a cult symbol."

"Hmm…" Tenzin mused, "Okay. It's a cult. But I don't see how this situation is different from any other. They're just another group of criminals who need to be put down by the correct authorities."

"I wish it were that simple, but unfortunately… there was another symbol found too. When my officers and I had been examining the scene of the crime, I discovered that the wall the symbol had been sketched on was hollow on the other side."

"So you didn't…?"

"Oh yes I did. I tore down a section of the wall next to the symbol, and sure as day, we found a complementary insignia on the other side. And this one was drawn in blood."

Lin recovered another piece of parchment, but this time from her jacket pocket, and folded it over the first photo.

Tenzin's eyes widened, his face a wreck of disbelief.

"No… that's not possible."

"Worst part is that its common knowledge the police force has metal benders that can see through walls. They wanted us to find this."

"But… what on earth could it mean? Surely this is just the work of cultish bigots who wish to tarnish the reputation of a dead—,"

"I'm afraid not, stop staring at the insignia, and look at what we found inscribed below it."

Tenzin's eyes lowered, and what he saw made him nearly jump out of his seat. It was impossible, it shouldn't have existed. It _couldn't _have existed.

"So that's why you came here. You needed a translator."

"I recognized the language because of those vowels you taught me while we were dating. Heh, turns out your stupid history lessons came in handy after—,"

"Are you _joking_ about this?" Tenzin interjected, rising from his seat with urgency, "This is no laughing matter."

"Wait a second," Lin said, rising from her seat in turn, and clasping a strong hand over Tenzin's scrawny shoulders, "Where do you think _you're_ going? We've still got a lot to discuss. You at least have to tell me what that sentence means."

"_From the beginning, we have watched._"

"Excuse me?"

"The sentence, that's what it means," he said pointedly.

"_Okay_… look Tenzin, there's some more photos I need you to look at, and this paperwork isn't going to fill out itself—,"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to dismiss me," the airbending master declared, shrugging her hand off his shoulders with fervor, "There is no time to waste."

"'_No time to waste?'" _Lin repeated comically in a rare reveal of a dreadful sense of humour.

Tenzin raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Lin gawked.

Darting away from the chief of police, Tenzin's orange robes swept across the floor as he twirled elegantly around, adding a certain poise to his lengthy strides.

"Tenzin," Lin scoffed, "You're being needlessly ambiguous—why are you leaving?—where on hell's earth are you going!? You can't just walk away from me. This interview is _not_ over!"

Tenzin spun around, staring Lin down, his eyes full of determination.

"I'm gathering my air nomads. We're going to find the ones behind these murders, and we're going to apprehend them ourselves."

"That's ridiculous," Lin snapped, "My police force will be more than capable of locating them."

"I don't care."

"Are you suggesting that you can outdo _my_ task force? _Please_. What happened to the humdrum, apathetic, monotonous, pacifistic Tenzin I know?"

"This is different," he replied curtly, "What I'm doing is necessary."

And with that, the airbender left the room, leaving Lin to scratch her head as she reflected upon her currently perplexed emotional state: an odd sense of bewilderment mixed with a coy feeling of fascination. The situation was clear.

She needed sleep.


	3. PC: Chapter 1: Part 2

**Author's Warning: **The Pinnacle of Chaos is not a story for the faint of heart. No one is immune to death. Not OC's, not LOK characters, and not ATLA characters. Death can come at any point. It can be violent and random, or slow and gruesome. This is the fictional sequel to a story where the most powerful villains of the past will be made to look like weak children in comparison to the formidability, and in some cases, powers of the new.

That said, I'm not announcing this because anyone dies in this chapter (I think this should be clear).

As the story evolves, I expect that there might be many questions about the exact nature of the world's science, and the new powers you will discover. Be patient, everything will be explained with time.

_So without further ado:_

**Chapter 1: Part 2:**

Allister Gregenchi. In Republic City, this was the name that was on everyone's mind.

He had first appeared two years ago, before the Kuvira Conflict and annihilation of Republic City's inner district. If you asked any man, woman, or spirit to describe him in one word, the answers would be shockingly diverse, undoubtedly bombastic, and most certainly not one word in length.

_"__I heard he was fired from the covert United Republic military operations."_

_ "__I know for a fact that he was blacklisted in the Fire Nation for creating a sketchy method of harvesting spirit vines."_

_ "__Definitely from the circus, must've worked as a rodeo clown, has that undeniably horrifying scent about him, y'know? And his face? Like, have you seen how pale it is?"_

_ "__Related to my Great Aunt Pipen'shmire, I can tell because he's got that same mole under his buttock."_

_ "__Works for the Red Lotus, I read it on his resume."_

But for all the stories people developed, and the conspiracies they conceived, there was one thing which everyone could agree on.

Allister Gregenchi was one hell of a mysterious man.

But not in a bad way. This sense of mystery that was associated with his image added an element of intrigue to his shadowy character. His very existence permeated the city's atmosphere with a sense of perpetual excitement. The idea of an influential yet esoteric enigma living in the heart of the world's most culturally vibrant city carried with it an almost romantic appeal. This perception of an impenetrable man with a perplexing and unknown past generated the illusion in many that he was some kind of savior. An Ubermensch come to fix the world after the violence of Amon's revolution, Vaatu's crusade against morality, and Zaheer's hideous dream for anarchy. Although the people believed in their avatar, faith in her ability to protect had only just begun to waver, as her year-long absence was beginning to take its toll.

Attacks executed on government bodies by the terrorist organization calling themselves the Red Lotus had begun to increase exponentially, and even with the Air Nation fighting for the world, everything seemed to be culminating towards an ever-approaching tipping point. A moment when the whole planet would descend into pell-mell and chaos. Lawlessness was becoming the new law, and crime rates were at an all-time record high, especially in the disbanded earth kingdom colonies.

So what did Allister do? How did he decide to contribute to a falling standard, a disintegrating status quo?

He created a specific goal, and began to work his way towards achieving it.

He payrolled someone who he felt could handle the arduous task of repairing the damage done to the broken and disassembled earth nation territories.

And this someone, was Kuvira.

But she did more than merely _excite_ the flames of change. She soared above the expectations of her army's funder, rising to heights the likes of which had never been seen before. She tamed Ba Sing Se, secured Omashu, and drove terrorized colonies out of poverty and sickness.

And so, for a moment in history, she overshadowed the founder of her operation, becoming the world's new face of freedom, and order. But when her tactics became crueller, and as she vied for more power and wealth, influence and control, Allister was the first to recognize her misconduct—publically reprimanding the "mistreatment of her citizens, and diabolical rearing of racial and ethnically insensitive, as well as morally repugnant _'re-education camps.'_" Although his discontent with Kuvira's work camps was voiced only after certain secret information had become publically available, Gregenchi first rescinded his endorsement of her government the moment she refused to step down to Prince Wu. And of course, this entailed no more funding. A move like this was bound to have big consequences, and for a short time, Allister became unpopular.

Kuvira retaliated by breaking into one of his most heavily guarded safes, the only one, in fact, that was openly known to be located in Omashu's wealthy district. Justifying her crime as a political right (Kuvira reasoned that she owned all of the Earth Kingdom's wealth), she used this stolen money to fund her army and the production of a weapon of mass destruction.

After Kuvira's defeat at the hands of the avatar, what could be salvaged from Gregenchi's lost fortune was returned. Allister didn't hesitate as he then announced the donation of everything he reclaimed to a charity he had personally founded. It was titled, '_Remember,'_ and was built with the intention of compensating those who had been forced to labour in the inhumane conditions of Kuvira's foul work camps. Ironically enough, in a future interview with the media, Gregenchi admitted that only a tiny pint of his massive fortune had been misappropriated.

Eventually, the Good Samaritan decided to make an unpredictable move that astonished everyone from the smallest child to the avatar herself...

...A political venture that was publicized from the Northern Water Tribe to the Fire Nation.

He declared that he would be running for president of Republic City.

**. . .**

_One Day After Zaheer Escapes..._

Mako watched as Gregenchi played the piano like an adept, the man's soft hands stroking its keys with an endearing affection. Arms jut high and low as his fingers slid across the piano's board, music streaming from his instrument as naturally as song from the chirping of a bird. His eyes darted from key to key, the task of note-reading unnecessary.

He had already memorized two-hundred pieces, each from the most famous of names: _Barty Lethon, Nerrow Junior, even Akinon Tempee. _

The emotion he invoked into each key press and every pedal stomp was brimming with genuine and passionate heat. The master's intense enthusiastic aura affected Mako to his core, compelling limbs to go slack as ears tingled to the sound of an emphatic strike and poignant hold. The music was taking rein of Mako's emotions, sending him skyrocketing to an unconscious voyage through the psychedelic realm.

Suddenly, the song's tempo slowed, dropping in pace until only a single note was held, its ringing pitch evoking a sense of sadness and remission. There was an intentional quiver, followed by a sharp and mighty cut, which ended the song with an unexpected, stomach-twisting flare.

Rising from his seat, Gregenchi adjusted the cuffs on his hands, frowning with displeasure.

"Mmm… messed it up," Gregenchi grumbled quietly to himself.

"That… that was the most amazing thing I've ever heard!" announced an ecstatic and unusually boisterous Mako.

Gregenchi twitched with surprise, swivelling around to face his commonly sober bodyguard.

"What's with you kids these days? I reason you'd only be mildly impressed if you listened to the works of Tempee."

Gregenchi was an older man, with thick, black hair that was beginning to reveal signs of streaking. His eyes were a bright, ocean blue, and he wore a smart looking tux and pair of black jeans. Despite the aging prevalent elsewhere, Gregenchi's pale face was handsomely chiseled and innocently boyish, his height tall and figure slender.

But one should not have been fooled by his deceptively fragile features. Gregenchi's voice was deep and masculine, the tone of it commanding an air of high respect. It was often startling to hear such power and modulation resonate from the mouth of one so contrastingly youthful. Mako himself had made the mistake of doubting Gregenchi the first time they had met. But these doubts were effectively eliminated the moment he had uttered his first word.

Around Gregenchi, it was natural for one to feel the urge to impress.

So Mako took the serious man's criticism—seriously.

"But my opinion on music shouldn't be discredited just because of a detail as trivial as that," Mako rebuked with a hint of agitation creeping its way into his voice.

Gregenchi frowned.

"A growing plethora of knowledge kindled by exposure to the greats is what enhances lacking taste, making an opinion far more credible to learned minds."

"So you're saying my opinion is irrelevant?"

"I'm saying that it's unfinished," Gregenchi paused, "And therefore irrelevant."

"An unfinished opinion is not an irrelevant one."

Gregenchi sighed, his eyes glancing quickly to his watch.

"Although it is true that everyone should have a voice, it is also true that the best voices are found in those of cultured, experienced individuals. _Your_ opinion, although irrelevant, is not without its own intrinsic value. Such a voice conserves the foundational basis of which our society is built upon; the concept of a culture where the government provides its citizenship with freedom considered not a _privilege_, but rather _right_."

"So basically, you're still considering my opinion insignificant."

"Irrelevant, not insignificant."

Mako shrugged, confused by the half-compliment—if one could call it that. Slumping against the wall, he drew a small bout of flame within his palm, altering its size as Gregenchi turned his attention back to his watch.

Silence pervaded the room with its dull, ringing quality.

"I can tell that this job doesn't seem to stimulate you much," Gregenchi said in monotone, uncharacteristically sparking conversation.

"I… um…"

"It's okay, you can be honest with me."

Mako then remembered Gregenchi's affinity for the truth, recounting countless experiences in which he fearfully watched as his boss nearly stared fellow colleagues to death with his terrifying kill glare. Despite running for president, (deceptive) politicians seemed to ironically get on the man's nerves. Which was impressive, considering Gregenchi's excellent control over his anger.

"Yah," Mako admitted, "To tell the truth, I was kind of hoping Reiko would place me back into the police force after my, _clearly vocalized_, less-than-enjoyable time spent guarding Wu."

"Yes," mused Gregenchi, "Albeit Wu certainly changed a lot in the past few weeks—far more than some ever do in a lifetime.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Reiko sending you to guard his 'mysterious enemy' was something more than a simple gesture of kindness."

"You mean he's using me to spy on you? Maybe audio feeds in my shirt?" Mako said ruffling his coat with a certain anxiety.

Gregenchi turned round and placed a firm hand on Mako's shoulder.

"Nothing so cut and dry, I would think. Reiko is a man of the law. Of this, I have no doubt."

Mako relaxed his shuffling.

"Would you like me to request for your removal from my service?"

Mako pondered that for a moment.

"No, I don't think that would help. Reiko would make the situation appear as though you wanted me gone because of something _I_ did. He already knows how much I dislike this line of work, and would suspect that I had something to do with your request. By making it appear as though I made some kind of mistake that put you in danger, he'll essentially be _legally blackmailing _me to continue the job," Mako sighed despairingly, attempting to hide the tragedy of his voice.

"Hmm, yes… I find it quite intriguing how Reiko is going to such great lengths to _enforce_ my guarding, especially using you, specifically. Just because I can't bend doesn't mean… well, enough said."

Mako nodded as he shivered at the thought of anyone being stupid enough to actually _challenge _Gregenchi. In fact, he felt sorry for any poor sod who'd look at him and see only an easy meal. Allister was a master swordsman, perhaps the best in the world. Rumour had it that, in all his years of training, not once had he been hit, _ever_, by a single bender's attack. Apparently, he moved with an inhuman speed, slicing, weaving, and twirling through enemies' defences with a horrifying elegance.

Gregenchi was also an agile chi-blocker, as well as highly intelligent. Although recognized by professors as 'inordinately book smart,' his high IQ also seemed to enhance his natural talent for swordplay; enabling him to predict opponents' moves with a near prophetic precision.

Always equipped with two platinum blades around an easily accessible (platinum-tinted) belt, the man was never unprepared for the worst.

Mako reasoned that nothing short of blood bending or the avatar could stop such a powerhouse of a man. Heck, maybe the famed Toph could do it, but who knew where that recluse ever was.

"It certainly sounds suspicious," Mako finally responded after some deliberation.

Gregenchi nodded to this.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like to ask you to keep an eye on Reiko during the after-party of our first campaign speech. It is my belief that he may approach you, and request for information. Could you do this for me?"

"Of course," agreed Mako, his mind on alert.

"Excellent. Now I think it's time we went out, as you know, I do prefer getting my own groceries."

**. . .**

Bolin jovially skipped through the streets of Republic City, Pabu chittering happily from atop his broad shoulders. It was 1:00 AM in the morning, and the avenues were dark and empty, lit only by a few incandescent lights that lined the edges of the wide, asphalt roads.

He was on his cheerful way to the twenty-four-hour ferry. It would take him to Air Temple Island, where he was planning to surprise Opal (who currently lived in residence there) with a very personal visit.

Ever since he had reconciled his relationship with her, their lives had been filled with nothing but joy, elation, and bliss. They were truly the definition of a stupidly happy couple, in the stage of lovers' coil when the passion was high and reason low. Sure, sometimes they got into arguments over miniscule things, such as what kind of dessert was better than the other, or whether Meelo would decide to build a fartbending academy—but these were all issues that could easily be resolved. And after they were dealt with, this gave the couple more time to, as Mako so eloquently put it: suck face.

Bolin couldn't help but to shiver with excitement as he anticipated Opal's sweet, cherry-scented lips reaching towards his… Their kissing intense as they lay together under her soft, comfortable…

"ARGH!" yelled an incoherent, flabbergasted voice.

Pabu chirped excitedly as Bolin swept around in confusion.

"What?" he panicked, staring into the void beyond, "What _on earth_ was that?"

Pabu continued to chirp, pointing his fluffy tail towards Bolin's back.

"What is it Pabu?" he asked as he turned again, this time jumping back, clearly spooked.

He had been standing in this direction not more than two seconds ago, but now… _now_… sitting in front of him, crouched low, fists clenched, back bent, eyes narrowed—he could see a girl.

_A girl!?_

Long, black hair was strewn messily across a gorgeous face. Temple's scrunched as her features contorted in mad fury. And golden eyes blazed with a malicious glee.

She looked up, down, left, and right, finally meeting the bewildered gaze of a confused Bolin. Pabu quickly hid behind him, fur rising in alarm.

"Where am I?" she snapped, quickly adding a 'Peasant,' for good measure.

"I'm… well… who exactly—?"

The girl surged towards him with an astonishing speed, fingers already pointed at his neck, and blue flames licking the edges of her supple skin.

"Tell me where I am _NOW_, or it will be the last thing you ever **DO**."

Bolin gulped.


	4. PC: Chapter 1: Part 3

**Chapter 1: Part 3:**

_That same night…_

"According to what I've read from the police records, this should be the place."

"Thank you Kai," responded a stern and rigid Tenzin, looking towards the mansion with newfound apprehension.

"What exactly is it that we're looking for?" asked a timid and hesitant Jinora.

Kai was about to formulate an answer, but quickly closed his mouth, scratching his head with a dumb confusion.

"Yah," Kai agreed with a squint, "Why _are_ we here anyways?"

Tenzin sighed.

"You listened to my briefing. You clearly remembered enough to substantiate the authenticity of our location."

"Yah but… you never really told us _why_ you were bringing us to an abandoned triad headquarters in the middle of one of the richest and most creepy streets in Republic City."

Kai was certainly not alone in having distaste for this eerily spooky neighbourhood. The lamps that lined the main road were powered by a rare form of spirit vine energy, providing light that flickered a deeply green, accursed hue. The residents' mansions were surrounded by black, iron fencing, adding a kind of classic horror to the theme of the place. Ravens crowed as they hopped and glided from grassless dirt to leafless tree, pecking the cracks that formed in fractured trunks and decaying bark. Twigs were scattered across the ground, and the sidewalks were streaked with the carcasses of tiny insects and dried up worms, their bodies peeling until flaky and shrivelled.

In front of the trio leaned the house of interest, an old, dilapidated building with about as much criminal subtlety as a farting cow-donkey. It was encircled with police tape, but currently, had no one guarding it.

"We came here to personally re-examine the blood-symbol that was photographed by the detectives," Tenzin eventually replied with a slow stroke of his beard.

"You mean the one with the _Air Nomad _language under it?" asked Jinora.

"Yes."

"But why waste our time? Aren't the photographs information enough? I don't understand why we came all the way here just to find something you already inspected," indicated Kai with disconcertion.

"He has a point," Jinora complained, all the while tugging at her father's robes, "After all, if we know what the symbol looks like, shouldn't we be dedicating more energy to finding the ones who made it?"

"You both have excellent points," Tenzin conceded, "And I'm well aware that with their ability to see through walls, the police force will have done a search so thorough—it will be nearly impossible to replicate."

"Then why are we _really_ here?"

"Because there was something else that I didn't tell Lin, something which I knew had to be done, and could only be _done_, by airbenders."

"What was it daddy?"

"That insignia, which was drawn atop the sentence—it was what the ancient air nomads referred to as a _Lexicon Circle_."

"A what?" stuttered Kai.

"You can't be serious—_that's_ what they look like?" asked an incredulous Jinora.

"Yes."

"Can someone _please_ tell me what's going on?" Kai continued with irritation.

"It's a _Lexicon Circle_," repeated Jinora pointedly.

"_I get that_," Kai muttered whilst tapping his feet, "But what _is_ a _Lexicon Circle_?"

"It's a circle that's built using…"

"Using…" Kai egged.

"Human sacrifices."

"Human sacrifices?!" Kai nearly belched, "Just what the hell is this circle for?"

"It can only be 'activated' by airbenders," Tenzin paused, before gravely stating:

"It's a portal into the spirit world."

**. . .**

"Tell me where I am!" ordered the deranged girl, long, raven coloured hair falling into a crazed, pale face.

"I… uh…"

The nutter jut her fingers deeper into the earthbender's exposed neck, sharp fingernails painfully puncturing his skin. Her press was strong, and firm enough to form a depression from where she drew a tiny drop of blood. The dribble ran its way down the course of Bolin's throat, trickling until no longer visible from under his collar. The blue flames that spun gradually around the woman's arms burned with an intense heat, raising the surrounding air temperature to a degree the likes of which Bolin had never perspired from before. Well, in truth, Ghazan's lava may have been of a—_similar_—humid calibre.

But this warmth was so much closer, so much _intimately_ _closer_… So much _impedingly_ _closer_ to burning the tissue clean off his face. He could already feel the hair on his head beginning to singe, the sweat from his brow pouring like a waterfall, down his skull.

"**NOW**," she demanded fervently.

"We're in Republic City!"

"Republic what?"

"Republic City, like, the most _cityish_ place on earth. Oh _please_ tell me you know at least that much."

"What do you take me for, an idiot?" she snapped.

"No, no, of course not. You're a genius, a prodigy with so much—_future stuff_—ahead of you. Did anyone ever tell you that?" Bolin panicked, Pabu nearly chirping in agreement, "You're a super, ultra, coolio, fantastically fantastic genius!"

"You know," she said with an exaggerated sigh, "You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone with a really fascinating sense of humour."

"Oh, I do? I mean, of course I do. Yes, I do!"

"I imprisoned his girlfriend, attempted to murder his sister, electrocuted his brother-in-law, and nearly shanked him on multiple occasions."

Bolin gulped as she (once again) drove her fingernails deeper into his neck.

"Now, now," Bolin chuckled meekly, "Surely we're getting off on the wrong foot? Let me introduce myself, I'm Bolin, super awesome, Ex-Pro-Bender—and this is Pabu, my flamboyant sidekick."

Pabu jumped onto Bolin's head, where he executed an impressive display of twirling.

The girl looked unamused.

"I don't need to introduce myself to you, _peasant_. I am _Azula_, conqueror of Ba Sing Se, slayer of the avatar, and rightful heir to my nation's throne."

"Okay, two things," Bolin stammered awkwardly, "One, the avatar's alive—_not_ dead. And two, you just said you weren't going to introduce yourself—and you_ kiiiiiiiiiiind_ of just did. Oh yah, and Ba Sing Se is fine."

"Silence!"

"Okay."

Azula flipped back her disheveled hair, eyes burning into Bolin's.

"I feel like you're cosplaying someone I should know," Bolin mused.

"Cosplaying?"

"Yah. See, I've not read too many history books in my time, but your name totally sounds familiar."

"History books?"

Azula's golden eyes suddenly narrowed, her face darkening with fear.

"What's wrong?" asked Bolin, choking out the words.

"Tell me peasant, what year is this?"

"You want to know the year?"

"Just answer me already!"

"We're at the tail end of 173 AG."

Azula stepped back from Bolin, hyperventilating as she attempted to regain her threatening composure.

"Impossible…" she stuttered, eyes' glassy as she held back tears.

There was a fierce tremor in the ground beneath the firebender, causing her to instinctively dive back. The earth she had been standing on vibrated until it phase shifted—becoming a boiling, red vat of steaming lava.

"Sorry about that, it was dark out here—but I _kind of want_ to make sure there's as much distance between _me_ and _you_ as possible."

"You—you're a lavabender!" Azula cried, half impressed with the discovery and half furious that a peasant had attempted to kill her—accident or not.

Bolin winked.

The ex-princess stood up straight, arms outstretched and smile wide.

"The information you've provided has been quite useful," she sneered, "Unfortunately, I can't let you live. It's nothing personal, really, I just can't tolerate the continued existence of any bender who is even _remotely as good as me_!"

Azula leaped over the stream of lava and towards her adversary, jets of blue cascading from her fists with mighty a force. Bolin speedily bended a large rectangle of earth up from within the pavement, dodging to the left as a wave of sapphire blasted through his defences, crumbling his makeshift barrier to sizzling rubble and dust.

Chuckling insanely, Azula landed elegantly upon the ground, hastily turning to face her tumbling foe. Bolin yelled inanely as he began to encircle the wicked bender, procuring large boulders by levitating their stone from the ground. First making it so that they followed him, the boulders were then clumsily maneuvered to protect the side of his body adjacent Azula's range of fire.

Standing calmly in place, Bolin's (if not slightly demented) opponent stuck out a fist and began to rotate with a speed equalling his erratic strides, her gushing flames scorching his weakening defences.

"Give up, you can't keep doing this forever!" she gloated over the sounds of melting rock and crackling dirt.

Bolin swore as she lifted her other arm, unleashing a second bout of fire which erupted violently upon his already deteriorating barricade. Unable to move his arms and lavabend (for fear of losing control over his shield) the earthbender knew that it would only be a matter of time before his strength gave way and the enemy burned him to an ashy crisp.

**. . .**

"Don't you find it even a little strange that there were no police guarding the mansion?"

"No, Kai, I don't," muttered Tenzin as he carefully stroked the _Lexicon Circle, _eyes narrowing as he examined its alien shape.

"How can you find that _not_ suspicious?" complained Jinora as she sat cross-legged upon the house's creaky floorboards.

"Because I was the one who specifically told Lin not to interfere with our investigation," replied Tenzin matter-of-factly.

"YOU WHAT!?" both Jinora and Kai yelled in panic.

Tenzin lifted his head in confusion, turning his attention momentarily away from the insignia, or at least… appearing to.

"It really is quite fascinating, I think that we may be able to activate it."

"How could you do something so reckless?" Jinora demanded angrily.

"We could have used the help," Kai muttered irritably.

Tenzin held half his thumb in his mouth, trapped in deep thought.

"Hello!" Jinora shrieked, waving her hand in her father's face, "Are you even hearing what we're saying?"

"Oh—what?" Tenzin responded with a shake of his head.

Kai slapped himself on the forehead.

"Master Tenzin, I think we should seriously call for backup."

"No, no, that won't be necessary—if this were an ambush then there would have been no need to go to all the trouble of building a _Lexicon Circle._ It's far too elaborate."

"Then what? Why are we here? To _use_ the _Circle_ in some way?" Kai pestered.

"Indeed. It is my belief that another _Lexicon Circle_ has been drawn in some other, arbitrary location. Both this _Circle_ and its 'sister' are connected."

"How do you know that?" asked Jinora.

"Because of this marking here," Tenzin stated while pointing to a symbol sketched near the bottom-right of the _Lexicon_, its shape resembling an alpha.

"This means that this portal is bound to another."

"And… so what?" Kai inquired dryly.

"When two portals are bound to each other, they will both lead to the same location."

Jinora's interest was piqued.

"Oh my goodness, Daddy, you're a genius! What you're going to say is that someone must be waiting for us on the other side of this portal! That's why we came here, isn't it?—to enter the spirit world and confront the criminals face to face."

"Correct as usual, Jinora."

"But wouldn't that be dangerous?" Kai chuckled nervously.

"No. Bending and physical _human contact_ become impossible when one enters the spirit world through a _Lexicon Circle_."

"So how does this work then?" Kai continued, "How do airbenders activate a _Lexicon Circle_?"

"It's not a very complicated process," Tenzin began, "_Lexicon Circles_ are useful because they allow one to travel to a specific location in the spirit world. In order to activate one, an airbender must first place their hand in the centre of the circle. See that thing in the middle of the _Lexicon_, that shape resembling the outline of a human hand?—that's where we'll have Jinora place hers. The person who does this crucial job must _not_ release their hand from the circle's centre. Otherwise, those who enter it will become trapped inside the spirit world. The only way to get out, would be through a _primary_ spirit portal. Of course, those didn't exist back in the day, so anyone who got stuck in the spirit world would have no way of escaping."

Jinora gulped.

"That sounds… interesting."

"The task of _mediating_, as it's called, requires concentration. Which is why I will stay here, in the physical world, to aid Jinora as she does this."

"Wait a second…" Jinora pouted, "That means you're going to have Kai enter the spirit world. You can't do that!"

"He'll be perfectly alright. Even if someone attempts to ambush us—which I already explained was unlikely—I will be here to protect you, and by extension, Kai's soul."

"I don't like it!" Jinora objected, "This plan is too dangerous."

"Kai is a competent young man. And so long that he's up to the task, I see no reason for us to not go ahead with my plan."

Jinora turned to Kai, her face awry with worry.

"Don't do this, you have nothing to prove to anyone!"

Kai looked back from Tenzin to his girlfriend, sighing as he rubbed his sweaty face.

"It's okay Jinora," he said calmly, placing a hand on hers, "I trust your father with my life. I've survived worse things than interrogating a couple of criminals.

"The biggest risk will be dying from boredom. Now, Master Tenzin, tell us how to finish activating the portal."

Jinora bit her lip.

The older airbender cleared his throat as both Kai and his daughter looked at him expectantly.

"The middle of the _Lexicon Circle_ is referred to as the _centre_. The airbender who places their hand in the _centre_ is called the _mediator_, since their body acts as the link between the physical and spiritual realm. After the _mediator's_ hand is placed in the _centre_, they must state: '_Lexicon Translating_', and the portal will open."

Kai nodded as he stepped in front of the _Lexicon_, feet fidgety and gaze locked on the ground.

"Let's get this over with."

Tenzin looked awkwardly away as Jinora kissed her boyfriend on the cheek. After this, he led his daughter to the wooden _centre_, where he gently guided her hand to its hard, palpable surface.

"Everyone ready?" Tenzin asked, no single note of fear audible in his deep, controlled voice.

"Yes," responded the children in unison.

"Excellent. Jinora, you can begin."

Inhaling anxiously, stress and trepidation rising, Jinora stuttered:

_"__Lexicon Translating_."

At first, nothing seemed to happen. The mansion remained empty, and the atmosphere silent.

But then, without warning, a low, dull, ringing was heard—its pitch lowering until the sound resembled the tolling of a bell. The _Lexicon's_ circular exterior began to rotate as it shone a bright, insidious violet.

"Now Kai!" Tenzin cried in-between each raucous toll of the invisible bell, "Run into the portal!"

With only a moment's hesitation, Kai passed Jinora and ran into the _Lexicon_, disappearing into a cloud of purple smoke.

"Is he in?" asked Jinora whilst gritting her teeth in agony.

There was no response from Tenzin.

"Dad!" she cried, head throbbing, "Dad, I'm in _PAIN_!"

Her father was nowhere to be seen or heard.

"Daddy, has Kai successfully entered the spirit world?! Did it work? Did our plan work?"

A horrible laughter. A ghoulish cackling.

"Oh yes," giggled the voice of her father, chuckling psychotically, "He's in alright, and so are _YOU!"_

Jinora felt a kick connect to her gut, and then a hand strike her head.

Everything went black.

**. . .**

Azula's maniacal laughing was drowned out by the crepitating of smoldering flames; golden eyes glinted against the dark foreground of night, her face aglow from behind a blaze of azure that streamed from outstretched arms and tightly clenched fists.

With his shield failing, eyes watering, cheeks sweltering—Bolin knew that the time for creativity was drawing nigh.

With every second that passed, Bolin's sprinting slowed, and his feet grinded deeper into the liquefying pavement. Looping around Azula was becoming a frivolous strategy, as he could find no opening, no time in which to strike a blow to his indefatigable foe. As his arms began to tire, and legs wobble, he found himself half-leaning, half-collapsing to the ground. It took all of his willpower and tremendous conscious effort to retain the solidity of his barrier.

"Look at you," screamed an incoherent Azula, "Already kneeling at my feet! So pathetic, so weak!"

Bolin could barely hear the insults as ears began to redden and throb, lips drying in the torrid air, face anemic and body increasingly febrile. But as consciousness declined, and shield dissipated, one word revamped his mind like a jolt of electricity.

_Kneeling_.

_So… Ghazan?_

And that was when he remembered. The move that Ghazan had executed—all those years ago—so habitually, so naturally—so… simply. Stooping painfully down to the earth, with left hand angularly thrust towards his enemy, the act sustaining his dwindling blockade, Bolin raised his right [hand] and slammed it onto the surface of the boiling road.

Howling wildly as his palm was burnt and scarred, the lavabender concentrated fiercely as he phase-shifted a perfect line of magma toward his damnable rival, her eyes widening with horror as blistering heat rushed to her in a fiery wave of molten death. Without enough time to both cease her bending and dive to the side, her flight execution was subpar. Azula tripped and plummeted to the left, just as the lava flow passed her by. The earthbender took this moment to shackle one of her feet to the ground, rising from his crouched position and dissolving his shield into dust and stone.

Suddenly, Azula's free foot shot into the air, and she bent a sweeping arc of fire towards Bolin. Manipulating two large slabs of rubble, the lavabender made it so that they hovered in front of him. He then crushed them together with a loud, reverberating _BAM_, stopping the arc dead in its tracks. Waving the rocks away, Bolin cleared his circle of vision to discover that Azula had broken free from her thin cuff.

They stood, each two feet from the other, exchanging hateful glares.

"Stupid peasant, you should be _bowing_ before me."

"I don't think so," Bolin grunted, lifting his hands in preparation to bend.

Azula noticed that his right palm was charred a deep, blood-soaked black.

Grinning vehemently, Azula separated her positive and negative energies, a pointed finger directing their release. This resulted in the formation of a powerful blast of lightening that surged its way towards Bolin's chest.

Unlike blue fire, lightning would not merely melt the earthbender's meekly contrived defences; the energy would violently shatter them, causing their crystalline shards to impale his unarmoured skin.

Barely thinking, Bolin did the only thing he could. By raising his elbows and stomping a foot, friction was generated in the earth ahead of him, until…

_"__You can't be serious—!" _

A four foot high wave of burning lava rose from the marred and demolished floor, absorbing the lightning like a ravenous demon from hell. Boiling, sizzling, steaming, frothing, bubbling incandescence was pushed towards Azula with outstanding a force.

Wide eyed, the firebender ran for her life, doom closing in.

Reaching the gated entrance to a deserted alleyway, Azula hopped over the fence and escaped into the shadowy embrace of darkness.

Bolin relaxed his arms and allowed the wave to smoothly descend. Clapping his hands together and intertwining his fingers, Bolin formed a fist which he gradually lowered down. The lava responded by cooling into hardened ash and pumice. Collapsing to his knees, Bolin gasped as he took shaky breaths and startled sighs.

Rising from his feet, he looked to where the princess had been standing. The ground before him was wrecked beyond repair, and Azula was nowhere to be seen. He attempted to hear something… _anything_… but to no avail. That was, until he heard a whimpering.

Swivelling abruptly around, Bolin came to face the maimed and disfigured form of a severely wounded Pabu, blood gurgling out from the animal's barely open mouth.

_"__NO!"_ he hollered, "Pabu, come on, stay with me dammit!"

The earthbender gently scooped up his beloved companion, salty tears streaming from his cheeks as he stroked the animal's scalded fur. As Pabu mewled softly in his arms, he began to cradle the dying creature while singing a muffled lullaby. Eyes shifted from a frightened black to glassy white as the ferret's consciousness slowly slipped away—fear gently vanishing from an anguished and distressed face.

"I… I'm so sorry…"

Pabu was still as Bolin shakily closed a lifeless pair of eyes.

"I couldn't…"

_A tower bell thundered—mighty ringing resonating through the streets of the living._

"I didn't…"

_Of carrions and corpses, to flesh and decay, such endless fields of loss. _

"…Protect."

_The bell of eternal slumber tolled one final time, its first victim lying peacefully in the arms of its adoptive parent, never to wake again._

**. . .**

"How… interesting," pondered Zaheer impassively.

The airbender was floating above a high-rise apartment, where he had attentively studied the battle between Bolin and the firebending princess.

_Pathetic_.

To mourn the death of a _pet_? Laughable.

Zaheer spread his arms, appearing to be a wingless angel of death, with eyes calculating and cold.

"In the past, the prospect of fighting either of those two may have been daunting, to say the least."

_Zaheer smiled_.

A large, crimson eye erupted from his forehead, its malevolent, unblinking stare colder than his own.

"Samael… everything is going according to plan. I will have my _revenge_, and you…

_You're CHAOS_."

**Author's Note: **The view count is doing excellent, thanks for all your support!

**PS:** Only two more parts until chapter 2! But be warned, the end to every chapter usually goes out with some kind of climactic bang!

You should always fear the end of a chapter! You have been warned.


	5. PC: Chapter 1: Part 4

**_Chapter 1: Part 4_**

_My future…_

Samuel allowed the water to carry him as he descended from the bumpy grates of the slumping huts. Enshrouded in a basket of fluid, the boy plopped to the floor as quietly as he could, smiling as the water evaporated from around his hunched form. Raising a flat hand delicately into the frigid air—and spinning it with a helical thrust—the boy melted the ice beneath him, using his water to slide across the frosty expanse of white ahead.

_My present…_

The palace was nothing more than a dot in the distance. But the dot grew, and as it grew, so did the city beyond. The deplorable wastes and abandoned shacks disappeared behind him as the silhouettes of enormous pillars and walls of frozen blue rose in defiance to overshadow his miniscule figure. Freezing the water underneath him, the boy trekked the rest of the way to the gates. No one needed to know that he was a bender.

_My past…_

As red-blonde hair fell into a pale and emotionless face, as bouncing hands relaxed to below a lean waist, as feet lifted to crack the ice beneath—malevolent, gleaming eyes spoke for a sullen mind.

Someone was going to die.

And it would be his hands—that committed the deed.

**. . .**

Republic City's newest and most green attraction vibrated as its hue shifted to a crackling sapphire.

Out from the portal walked two disparate characters.

One was a muscular woman with short black hair and anemone eyes—the other, a slender girl with long wavy locks, and a penchant for brown, grubby gloves. The two held each other's hands, grinning as they were greeted by a chorus of levitating spirits.

"That was amazing!" laughed Asami, emerald eyes glistening in the twilight of dusk.

"_I know right_," Korra beamed, fingers tightening as they interlocked with her friend's.

"I never knew the spirit world was such a beautiful place. I could have never imagined—,"

"The dancing lilies?"

"Or the rainbow fireflies!" Asami exclaimed, "Or the floating bird-eels. Or the—"

"The talking mushrooms?"

The inventor nodded. "That was really quite something, y'know? How exactly can a mushroom speak, anyway?"

Korra shrugged.

"The same way grass can be blue and trees move, I guess."

"Yah, stupid question I suppose."

The couple continued their walk along the growing tendrils of twisted root and floating bodies of languid spirits. The eve was dewy and temperature mild; the sky clear and stars hardly shrouded by the soft glow of gentle lamplight. A light drizzle tickled the surface of Korra's flushed cheeks. Inhaling the cool midnight air, she found that satisfaction curved her lips.

"So, now that it's over, do you want to do it again?"

Asami turned to give Korra a weird look.

"Like, you mean, right now?"

"No, no," Korra gulped, "I meant—_I_—not now. Sometime in the future… like, maybe in a few months… would you like to… uh… go out again?—I mean, just with me?"

Asami's smile permeated a warmth that nearly melted the avatar's knees.

Though Korra didn't let her pick up on that.

"I would love to," Asami replied.

"Avatar Korra! Avatar Korra!"

The two friends swung around to see a messenger man sprinting erratically toward them, his footing turbulent as he attempted not to tumble upon the vines that expanded below his stumbling feet. Letters flew out from his half-open backpack as he came to a halting skid in front of them.

The girls looked to each other amusedly, eyebrows rising.

The man comically reached for a letter deep inside his bag, somehow knowing which envelope to procure from within the mess of fluttering white.

"This is for you!" he declared, handing Korra a sealed paper with an arm outstretched, hand shaky and grip unsteady.

She took the letter wordlessly, the courier already tapping his feet with impatience.

"I don't know who it's from, but the third party who gave it to me paid a pretty sum for delivery. They had me waiting here for days! The instruction was to get you to open it as soon as you received it. That's all, I'm outta here!"

The carrier then departed into a run, bending over to retrieve fallen goods on his way.

A moment passed.

Korra shook the envelope, suddenly squinting in surprise.

"What is it?" asked Asami curiously.

"The letter… it's heavy. I can also feel the outline of something in it."

Tearing the envelope with minor frustration, Korra opened its mouth to reveal its contents.

To Asami's astonishment, Korra pulled out a small blue dagger, with strange inscriptions carved into its hilt. Rotating it around in her palm, the bender tested it with her free hand, eyeing the sharp edge warily.

"Quite the exquisite gift," Asami noted with fascination, "Mind if I have a look?"

Korra handed her the blade, next retrieving a letter that had come attached with the present.

Asami, mesmerized by the weapon, didn't notice Korra's face as it paled to a deathly white.

"Uh—on second thought, can I have it back?"

"Aw, c'mon, just give me one more minute. I want to try to decipher these markings, they don't make any sense to me."

Korra tapped her feet nervously as Asami examined the dagger. It took only a moment for Asami to notice the uneasy look pasted on her friend's chalky face.

"Is something the matter?" Asami asked with a touch of concern.

"No," Korra replied quickly, "Everything's fine. Can I have the dagger back now?"

Asami said nothing, handing back the artifact with some reluctance.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yah, I'm good.

She paused.

"Let's go."

**. . .**

Pema was tucking Meelo in when she heard a knocking on the front door.

"Mommy, can you tell me that story again?"

"What story dear?" Pema responded warily, eyes heavy with fatigue.

"The story about the man with swords for hands!" Meelo proclaimed with a dramatic shake of his fist.

"That one again?"

"Yah, I want to hear the part where he eats the soldier's heart!"

"There is no part like that, Meelo."

The rapping was more insistent now, and Pema sighed as she stood up from her child's bedside.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to skip story time tonight."

"What!?" Meelo cried, "No story time!? What kind of mother doesn't participate in story time?"

"The exhausted and harassed kind, honey," she said, plucking her son on the cheek.

As Meelo started to complain, squirming under his blankets in the beginnings of a tantrum-rage, Pema hastily sprinted away and slammed the bedroom's door shut, exhaling a deep gasp of relief.

"Coming!" she shouted over the snoring of a next-door Ikki.

Pema fumbled down the stairs as she hurriedly rushed herself in anticipation of Tenzin's return. She was waiting of course, to hear good news from the mission. And she was also nervous, as nervous as a mother could be.

Swinging the door open with fervor, she was surprised to see Korra and Asami, smiling down at her with wide, silly grins.

"We're back!"

**. . .**

Pema finished boiling the water, placing tea bags in their respective cups, and was now walking over to the table that housed her guests, tray aiding in the expedition.

"So, tell me girls… _how was it_?" she asked in a giddy whisper, placing her tea tray on the table's white loincloth.

"It was amazing," Asami admonished, carefully retrieving her tea.

"Breathtaking," Korra agreed.

"What did you see? What was it like?"

"Well… do you mean apart from the spirits? Because there were certainly a lot of those," Asami smiled, taking a silent sip.

"Oh, the views," Pema chuckled, "Spirits and all!"

"Would you believe me if I told you there were floating bird-eels?" Korra laughed.

"No kidding! Did they talk?"

"Yep," Asami grinned.

"Were there waterfalls?"

"Plenty, and also talking mushrooms!"

"Talking mushrooms?"

"Long story," Asami dismissed, delicately placing down her splashing cup.

"Was it romantic?"

Korra spit out her tea, choking and rubbing her back as cheeks flared a dark shade of revealing red.

"Just _kidding_!" Pema giggled, warily eyeing her newly moistened tablecloth, "Sheesh, I mean, I won't tell Mako or anything."

"Yah, right…" Asami smiled, all the while shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Anyhow," Pema waved coolly, "Did you hear? Gregenchi's first presidential campaign speech is tomorrow!"

"Oh, really?" Korra squeaked as nonchalantly as she could muster, dislodging the last drops of liquid from her throat as she pounded her heaving chest.

"Just waterbend it out," Asami offered.

"No way! Do you have _any_ idea how weird that would feel?"

Pema ignored this exchange and promptly continued:

"You know, as the avatar, you might be expected to make an appearance."

Korra sat up as she cleared her throat.

"If Allister invites me, then I'll be more than happy to attend."

"Oh, that's really great! Because, well, he kind of did."

"Actually? When?"

"The whole affair was quite informal really. He just asked Mako to pass on the 'invitation' to someone who could contact you."

"That's sounds about right," Asami nodded, "Always blunt and to the point, he is."

"Wait… do you mean Mako or Gregenchi?" Korra asked in confusion.

"It's great that you're committed to this," Pema cut in, "The speech will be outside town hall. Be there 1:00 PM sharp."

There was a banging on the front door.

"Oh, I suppose I'll have to get that…" Pema sighed, weariness creeping into an anxious voice.

"Don't worry about it," Asami said whilst rising from her seat.

"I've got it."

After walking to the entrance of the house, Asami was greeted with a horrifying sight—charred and burnt—cradling something that smelled of charcoal and ash.

"Pema—get Opal, we need help, NOW!"

**. . .**

Bolin was sitting on a cot, his eyes blank and listless, face pale, and forehead painted in a deep, muddy crimson. Opal kneeled next to him, bandaging a cut on his ankle as she wiped the perspiration draining from her sweltering, red cheeks. Korra paced back and forth along the carpeted floor, frustration clear in her quick, abrasive strides. Pema and Asami stood next to each other, staring at the scene as if detached, unable to process the reality of the gruesome situation. Eventually, Asami left Pema's side, catching Korra mid-stomp as she placed a firm hand on an unsuspecting shoulder.

"Tell us what happened," Opal inquired soothingly, looking her boyfriend in the eye.

At first, he said nothing, silence permeating the room like a foul, choking vapour. But the smoke cleared, and Bolin met Opal's hard gaze.

"I was attacked."

"Who was it?" Korra snapped, her any remaining delusion of calm shattered, "I'll find them, and make sure they wish they were never born!"

"Korra!" Pema fussed.

"No," the avatar said, standing her ground, "This wasn't just assault. It was attempted murder. I can see it from the wounds, his face—his eyes dammit! We can all see it!"

Pema looked down at the floor. Asami shook Korra gently.

"We're all upset Korra, you've just got to relax a little. Bolin, what else can you tell us?"

Bolin winced as Opal tightened the knot around his bandage, sealing it from infection, and halting his dripping loss of blood.

"I… it was a girl, I dunno. Long, black hair, crazy weird eyes," he chuckled wearily for a moment, a hint of his nature breaking through the mold of sickness, "Absolute psycho. She wanted to know the year."

Asami and Korra looked at each other, scrunching their eyebrows curiously.

"She sure sounds like a nutter," Korra agreed, "Why didn't you fight back?"

"She was…" Bolin grunted as Opal began with the next wound, "…Really good. Best firebender I've ever fought. Don't tell Mako, but she was probably better than him."

_"And why doesn't that surprise me?"_

Everyone in the room (except Bolin, perhaps) jumped up with surprise, startled by the sardonic voice of a brisk, familiar friend.

"Chief Beifong?" Pema gawked.

The chief was leaning calmly against a wooden beam bolted to the left of the bedroom's entrance. With hands crossed against her breast and a frown bolted to a pale, steely face, one could almost mistake Beifong for a grossly apathetic, living gargoyle.

"H-how—?" Opal began.

"How did I get in here?" Beifong snorted, "I used the door."

There was an awkward, yet brief, second of quiet.

"Oh come on, that was supposed to be a joke."

"Wasn't very good," Bolin muttered.

"I wasn't asking you!" Beifong barked.

"Auntie Lin," Opal interjected, "It's great to see you and all, but I have to ask, why are you here?"

"Yeah," Korra added, "I was going to get to that too."

Lin straightened her back, coughing into her fist before clearing her throat.

"Well, I actually came over to talk Tenzin _out_ of going to the triad mansion."

"The triad mansion?" Asami thought aloud.

"Oh, well, I'm afraid you're too late," Pema chuckled, "He already left hours ago. Anyway, you were going to say something interesting about the person who attacked Bolin?"

To this, Pema received a livid plethora of blank stares.

"What makes you say that?" Opal asked.

"Come on, have none of you read classic mystery by _David Clerence_? Most famous hardboiled detective writer of the century? No?"

The group blinked in confusion.

"Are you basing this inference of yours on the first line I spoke upon entering the room?" Lin inquired tactfully.

"That _and_ the shadowy intrigue thick in the atmosphere surrounding your appearance."

More silence.

"You're _good_," Lin grinned, she and Pema exchanging a knowing glance.

"Wait—what? I'm totally confused," Korra groaned, slapping herself on the forehead.

"Don't think too much of it kid. All I was gonna' say is that I've heard rumours coming from certain… unsavoury districts of the city. Supposedly, there's some insane firebender in town, wrecking buildings and causing all sorts of mayhem. But this is just gossip. My officers have yet to catch any suspects. And there are no potential leads."

"Then tell me if anything pops up," Korra huffed.

"Will do," Beifong said with a mock salute. Lin then turned around, as if to leave, before abruptly stopping, and then shouting:

"Oh, and one more thing. When Tenzin gets back, tell him that we need to have a talk."

**. . .**

Tonraq strolled briskly through the icy corridors of his palace. As he walked, his feet slid across slick stone, the haunting echoes of deliberate, shifting steps reverberating across the empty halls, filling the void of noiseless space.

_"I have seen it, and it is inevitable."_

The eerie words of that dapper man, that strange, alien creature. They repeated themselves in his head, as if a memory unwilling to hide—melt into the deepest depths of his mind—burrow into a place meant to be forgotten—never to be remembered again.

_"He's going to kill you."_

Tonraq, chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe, father of the avatar—Lord of the South—hah!—he could fend for himself! He did not run. He was no craven, no coward who mewled, or whimpered at the first sign of conflict. He stood up to terror, combat evil with animosity, his own ferocious temperament. Like fighting fire with fire, he sought to squash corruption while himself displaying a fierce determination—turning wrath into a weapon, fundamentally, for him.

_"Killing you, will only be the beginning."_

The words, like poison, stung his heart, infected his mind. Like a great viper, they bit, jaws retracted, teeth long, sharp skin-flayers. Was he too weak to accept truth? Or was he smart enough to fear inevitability? How should one feel? What was one supposed to do, in the face of such great terror? Give up? Give in?

_"And then your daughter—I eat her next."_

Tonraq's spine lurched, back arching until uncomfortably erect, as he came to a sudden stop.

"Hello, Mister?"

The chief turned round to face a boy, no older than ten, tugging at his sleeve. The kid's eyes were a dull, placid grey, and his lips were twisted into a small, near indiscernible frown.

Tonraq bent down on a knee, eyeing the child with confusion, and concern.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The boy sniffed as he rubbed his nose, red-blonde hair streaking into a shadowy, half-obscured face.

"My name is Samuel. I was with my Mommy and Daddy… and then… I… I don't know…"

Tonraq squinted as his gaze hardened. No one was able to just _enter_ the palace, accident or not.

"How did you get here?"

"My parents… they… they're guards. Daddy told me to wait for him while he went off to do something… but he never came back!"

That certainly explained a lot. But this situation was ridiculous. No guards were allowed to bring their kids into the palace. These grounds were strictly forbidden to city folk. Tonraq was going to have a long chat with the troublesome child's father. After his son was returned to him, of course.

"You don't have to worry, I'll get you back to your dad. Just tell me where your father told you he was going."

After a small exchange between the two, Tonraq led the boy to where he said his parent's would be waiting—Samuel following his guide from behind.

But something wasn't right. As the waterbender led his young companion through the quiet, deathly halls, his stomach could not help but to twist and churn with unease. Something rotten was coming.

Samuel smiled a wide, knowing grin, licking his lips before bored, dead eyes flashed to life, now flecked with fragments of a lurid, violet hue.


	6. PC: Chapter 1: FINALE (PART 1)

**Chapter 1: FINAL PART (Part 1)**

**Note: The finale of chapter 1 has been taking me a very long time to write. Because of this, I have decided to release it in parts. Stay tuned, this is going to be one hell of a ride. If you think this part is crazy, you ain't seen nothing yet! BTW, the announcer will be introducing the finale of each chapter.**

**_Announcer: _**_Last time on the Pinnacle of Chaos: Zaheer was freed from his prison with the aid of an unsettling, shadowy child. Tenzin learned of a new, dangerous cult, deciding to meet them face to face—in the spirit world! Things went horribly wrong when he betrayed Jinora and Kai, sending them both sprawling into the Lexicon Circle, and stranding them… well, somewhere! Bolin was forced into a fight with a fiery and unfamiliar foe, and had to pay a steep price. Korra received a mysterious parcel and she, Asami, Pema, Bolin, Opal, and Lin Beifong discussed the chaotic state of the city. Gregenchi is running for president and Korra has been invited to attend his campaign speech. Zaheer has eyes on his forehead and I'll be damned, the child who freed him is up to no good! What will happen now? Will our brave heroes find the courage to face whatever's coming for them next? Well, will they? God—I hate my life. Announcing is really, really boring. Can't I play a bigger role in this story? Please?_

_[Muffled voices can be heard from the back.]_

_What? What do you mean I can't?! I'm coming over there, NO—don't you DARE hide from me! Son of a bit—_

_[Voices fade into static as the slide show is turned abruptly off. A faint cursing is heard before the lights go out.]_

**. . .**

With eyes shut tight, Kai rubbed his aching scalp, groaning as he lifted himself onto his feet—and as tired ankles quivered in severe, excruciating pain. Cracking his neck to the left, then right, the airbender sighed with something a mix between consternation and disorientation. Lids fluttering open, he pursed his lips, suppressing the urge to scream as he dread what vision would reveal.

"Oh no no no, this won't do. This won't do at all."

Kai was in a black, featureless void, and before him, stood a man completely enshrouded in an adumbral grey, red-trimmed, recherché vestment—its design resembling a temple robe. The colour of the cloth nearly concealed him against the black foreground of the nebulous area, and his frame appeared as though it was dissolving into a thick, living dark.

"Who are you?" Kai yelled from across the abyss, eyes hardening as he held back his panic.

The dissipating man made an elegant sounding 'tut-tut.'

"No. This isn't right. I—it can't be. We requested for the nomad in charge. What are you supposed to be?" the man chortled mockingly, "A _decoy_?"

The teen gulped, for a moment glimpsing rays of a sinister magenta, which gleamed brilliantly from behind the outline of his back. '_Good, so the portal I came through is still active,'_ Kai thought, the knowledge briefly calming his currently despondent disposition.

Just then, a mass came tumbling out from a space in nowhere, slamming into Kai and sending him plunging to an invisible floor. The boy's vision blurred as he attempted to regain a bearing of his shadowy surroundings. Pushing himself up with little energy and focus, Kai turned reluctantly around, spotting Jinora—sprawled across the empty ground, unconscious.

And worse yet, the gateway she had been sustaining—was gone.

"Oh, what's this?" cackled the man, "Another child?"

Kai ran his fingers frantically across Jinora's bleeding scalp, worriedly eyeing a drop of blood that dribbled down from a sticky, fractured skull.

"Jinora, please, oh _god_…"

"Touching, really," the man drawled, a bored tone whetting the edges of his serrated voice, "Oh, and look at that. It would seem your _Lexicon_ has been deactivated. Good luck with that."

"Wait!" Kai yelled, holding Jinora close to his chest, "You've got to help us! Please!"

"Sorry kid, I don't do babysitting. Uncle's gonna' be pissed enough with this whole plan being a complete failure and all, y'know?"

"Uncle?" Kai asked frantically, attempting to stall for time.

The man said nothing, turning round as he prepared to make his leave.

"Wait! If you won't help me, at least tell me why you're here! Who are you?"

The man paused mid-stride, robes furling softly as he casually brushed down his drooping sleeves.

"_From the beginning, we have watched._"

The man laughed hysterically as he departed from Kai's view, as if having said some joke, to which he alone understood the punch line.

**. . .**

Gregenchi sat idly in his rocking chair, back hunched as he lazily held his head with the flat front of his bent palm. Only paying a meager degree of attention to his game of chess with Mako, the man's eyes darted back and forth, from table to watch, as he wearily scratched his nose and yawned his tired yawn. Mako, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck, tugging at his dank collar as he glanced bitterly at the chessboard. He moved a pawn to A4 as he slowly began to process the pell-mell that was his side of the battleground. The damage report: he had lost his queen in the third round, had been checked simultaneously by four enemy pieces, and had his castle and rook battalion completely annihilated. Now Gregenchi was closing in on his king, and a checkmate seemed inevitable. The wait for Gregenchi to make his move was painstaking, enduring it a pure form of unsolicited torture. After a very long two and a half seconds, Gregenchi moved a knight, having not even peeked at his adversary's side of the panel.

"Cheeky," Mako grumbled, sweat gleaming as it dripped from his glistening, yellow brow.

"What?" Gregenchi blurted loudly, head suddenly rising as he became alert.

"You're not paying attention. You haven't even looked at my side of the board in over three turns!"

Gregenchi sniffed as he stared intently at the board, inspecting the pieces and memorizing their respective locations.

"Who's winning?" Gregenchi inquired.

"You can't figure it out?"

"I already did, in truth."

"Then why ask me!?"

"Would you like to play a game of _Pai Sho,_ instead?"

"You're unbelievable!"

"I would thank you for the compliment, if the context wasn't all wrong."

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Mako groaned, lifting himself from his seat as he shuffled to the mansion's double-hung entryway. Swinging the door open with his mind on chess, he found that he was only mildly petrified when two strong arms clutched him firmly by the shoulders, pulling him into an uncomfortably tight, gut squeezing embrace. Mako coughed as he squirmed his way out of the tackle, staring dumbly at the man in front of him.

Varrick grinned casually as he paradoxically managed to both comically and effeminately brush back a thick, feathery fedora from around his rail of a neck. He was dressed in an overly fanciful sky blue, ivory string tunic, and pair of black silk pants which just barely skimmed the edges of thoroughly polished, white laced leather, silver encrusted shoes.

Zhu Li was standing next to her husband, regarding him with a smile spread wide across her lips. Mako took silent notice of a belly that seemed a few centimetres larger than normal.

"Mako, my man!" Varrick exclaimed, smirking as he placed a firm arm around a rigid pair of uninviting shoulders.

"Why are you here, _Varrick_?" Mako exasperated, quickly remembering his _slight_ lack of fondness for the man who had kidnapped the president and gotten him thrown in jail.

"Why do you think? To see the man of the hour, of course. Gregenchi!"

"You're too kind," spoke a stern, but courteous voice from across the hall.

The looming figure of a lanky, enigma of a man, sauntered over from Mako's behind, having somehow managed to sneak his way into the house's well lit entrance. Varrick untangled himself from Mako, enthusiastically offering Gregenchi his hand. The presidential candidate reciprocated the savvy entrepreneur's spirited salutation, the both of them exchanging sly, knowing smiles. After this, Gregenchi delicately clasped Zhu Li's palm posterior, bending his back with a certain poise and formal elegance, before placing a soft kiss against the back of her knuckles.

"It's good to see you again, Allister," Varrick proclaimed, playfully punching Gregenchi's strong arm, "But to be honest, I thought you would dress a _teeeeeensy_ bit more formal. The white collar T-shirt is a bit of a drag, if you ask me."

"Says the man wearing _that_," Gregenchi chuckled accusingly, pointing to the fedora wrapped neatly around his friend's neck.

"Oh, this?" Varrick laughed, "I'm just testing it out for my wife!"

"_Are you?_" Zhu Li asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow, "I don't believe I wrote about that in your diary today."

"Well then do the thing! Oh, and it's a journal, by the way."

"Right," she muttered mordantly, grabbing a pen and notebook from her purse as she proceeded to scrawl down her annotations with a nimble efficiency.

"Wait, you and Mr. Gregenchi know each other?" Mako stammered, startled by the realization.

"Sure do. We've been business buddies for a year now," Varrick declared, whispering loudly into Mako's ear, "You _could_ _say_ it's our first year anniversary."

"You mean, today?"

"Something like that."

"Tomorrow, actually," Zhu Li corrected.

Gregenchi placed a warm hand on Mako's defrosting shoulders.

"Varrick and I have been working out new ways of harvesting spirit vines. Our goal is to discover an efficient method of generating cheap, clean energy."

"That's pretty amazing," Mako admonished, his impression of Varrick somewhat improving, "It beats building a weapon of mass destruction."

Varrick's nose wrinkled.

"I told Baatar what he was doing was wrong. Idiot should have listened. Giant spirity death rays are just plain bad!"

"But wasn't it you who built the prototype?" Mako asked skeptically.

"Oh yah. But I scrapped it and told Kuvira she was crazy. Hung me over the train rails for that one!"

Gregenchi scratched his chin, squinting at Mako as if reading a book.

"You know, Varrick is a very well intentioned fellow. He's certainly not the same man he once was."

Mako's dispassionate features curved into a superb poker-face.

"Thanks for the info. But… with respect sir, I don't think this is any of your business."

"Fair enough."

Varrick blinked in confusion.

"Is there something I'm not being told here?" Varrick asked obliviously, pretending to be socially deaf.

"Nothing," Mako snapped.

"Great, then I think it's high time we ski doodled outta' this place!"

"You're coming with us?" Mako frowned, "But our ride doesn't leave until 11:30."

"Are you kidding? I am the ride!" Varrick sniggered whilst prancing to the side, revealing a lavish, black limousine. "Hop in!"

**. . .**

"Unbelievable—I'm going—_NOW_," Tonraq decreed gruffly, briskly motioning for Samuel to move aside.

"Yes, yes sir," the guard replied formally, curiosity curving his brow as he watched a young, timid boy hide behind his chieftain's legs. The child uncomfortably shifted his feet, looking at the ground in nervous anticipation… of something.

"Give me the report, in full," Tonraq commanded.

"Of course. The bridge to the badlands is in need of urgent repair, there are people on it, and they're yelling for help. It's on the verge of collapse."

"I want four men stationed appropriately for when I arrive. Get moving!"

The guard quickly scurried away, face hardening with stress.

"Samuel, you'll have to come with me, I'll get you back to your father after this, I promise."

The boy nodded, releasing Tonraq's sleeve as he paced nervously back, dull grey eyes widening with dismay.

"Just follow me. Everything's going to be all right."

**. . .**

The bridge to the badlands was a massive, icy thing. It stretched across the length of a gargantuan, gaping pit—some black, mouth in the earth. Sounds resonated from somewhere beneath a bottomless sea of stygian dark—most likely vibrations generated from the cracking of collapsing sleet—which occasionally broke off from the walls that ran adjacent to the fissure. These noises would produce echoes that became muffled as they reverberated to the surface, the frozen pass freezing time as it recorded events of frosty decay, fossilizing them in frigid, layers of air. And the fossils lingered, eerily too. The ringing they left, fading only as their origins were smashed into oblivion, splintering across the white expanse of whatever lay far, far below.

A pike of glistening, coiled ice spiralled radially upwards, puncturing shadow like a heavy spear as it drove its way into the centre of the bridge, acting as extra support for the bottom. This spire had been created long ago, but looked as if haphazardly propelled into the overpass by some group of anxious waterbenders.

Two people, a man and woman, hugged as they tightly clung to each other's sleeves. The spike beneath them was cracking, and as it began to rupture, so too did the bridge. Beyond the cowering couple, a large, steel gate stood, eclipsing the far side of the chasm in a grid of dark. The thing was closed, sealing entrance to the badlands, and ultimately obstructing the route to a criminally infested region of the South.

When Tonraq arrived, he was received by a modest party of men. A division of four. One in particular seemed to have taken charge, yelling orders as loud as his throat would allow. Directing two of three men in front, the commander choreographed and oversaw a complex, nimble dance of arms, fingers, and palms.

"Curl that index tighter, tighter Bolavski! And Charlie, grease up that back of yours, will you?"

"What does that even mean!?" Bolavski huffed.

"Just keep bending, or I'll have you court martialled!"

"You can't do that!" Charlie pouted.

"Fine then! Keep bending, or I'll smack dah livin' daylights outta' yah!"

Floating pools of twisting, liquid water were melted and then risen from the ground, slowly, and carefully hardened into the splitting clefts that snapped across the slanting bridge support. The fourth soldier was nearest the people on the bridge; he spoke soothingly, attempting to ease their fears, goad them into taking a few, small steps towards him. Tonraq walked up to the commander, saluting him with a gesture that signalled both appraisal and respect.

"Commander, what's our status?"

The commander looked away from his men, a dribble of sweat sliding from his brow as he aimlessly wiped his wrinkling forehead.

"It's bad, whatever was done to this bridge was done and done well. It's been cut deep, near the bottom, and that's been causing some tension up top. Albeit… I reckon the damn thing was going anyway, it's been standin' for what now, four hundred years? That said, still seems suspicious."

"How did the civilians get here?"

"Dunno, we just heard some screamin' and ran down the _ruling overpass_ as fast we could. I suppose we could ask them, but given their current tizzy, we're hard pressed enough just with getting them to safety."

"I thought you were the men I stationed here. Not some guards who only… well, heard yelling."

"We're both. Thing is, we heard the yellin' first, then your young messenger-lad."

There was a deafening, resounding _SNAP_ as the support glaringly sagged, causing the people above to thrust, face-first, into the bridge's riving, crystalline floor.

"How much longer until the situation's stabilized!?" Tonraq roared over the toppling of collapsing ice.

"Stabilized?" the commander sighed, eyes sagging with uncertainty, "At this rate, 'stabilized' is a far ways away. And I'm being optimistic here! We'll be lucky if we get these people off in the nick of time!"

"Then we can't afford to make any mistakes. Continue the operation!"

Just then, as the man on the bridge began lifting himself up with the base of his fists, a downcast pair of mortified eyes caught sight of a short, diffident figure. The man's glare widened as eyes were met with a gaze that blazed a sickening vermilion, well hidden under the mask of an amusedly indifferent regard—a slight, arrogant cock of the head.

"No!" screamed the male civilian, locked in a stare of death, "He's behind you! He's there… right—there!—oh, god NO!"

Tonraq scratched his head in confusion, the nonsensical pleas of the man complicating the already delicate situation.

"Oh great," the commander moaned, "Now he's going flippin' mad."

Tonraq frowned at the commander, kicking him in the boot.

"Eh—sorry!"

Turning his attention back to the civilians, Tonraq yelled:

"Just try to keep calm—we'll get you out of this—,"

Suddenly, the man on the bridge began to grope at his veiny, pulsing throat, choking as blood violently splattered from his mouth—staining white below. The woman, horrified at first, quickly began to experience the same, the shrill cry of a half-scream barely escaping from a tightly constricting, blue trachea. Tonraq watched helplessly as the couple was thrown, like rag dolls, shakily into the air. They were levitated until dangling feebly atop the pit, and dropped, to Tonraq's disgust, as grip around their necks was slackened. So that, perhaps, the entire company would be able to hear their pitiful, wailing shrieks.

And then everything went still. A prolonged, uneasy silence descended upon the group of stunned soldier's like a cloud of buzzing wasps. Stinging them, only shortly, before the pain subsided into waves that swept through their bodies as cold, venomous shudders.

"Ha. Ha. Ha," a chirpily young, yet stolidly ancient voice laughed, quite callously.

Tonraq swiveled, nearly turning round his head, completing not but half a spin_—_before the commander spat, with emphatic vehemence:

"IT'S THAT BO—,"

Too late, too slow. Tonraq was bent agonizingly to his knees, forced to watch his companions rise, twitching with intense, painful seizures that shook their convulsing bodies, as they were tossed—carelessly—into the deep, foreboding abyss. The commander met Tonraq's gaze, just a moment before falling beneath the surface of the overpass. And that stare, that haunting nod—that look—that _glower_—_those eyes_… of a vengeful soldier. He would never forget. Not ever.

Three towering spikes of ice were bent gracefully from the deep, smashing into the bridge and delaying once imminent danger of collapse. Still clawing at the floor, and squeezing his pounding chest, Tonraq peered forward to glance that small, monster of a child, walking leisurely away, skipping innocently towards the centre of the now steadying bridge.

When standing on his stage, the boy released his enemy from telepathic hold, swinging round to face a sweaty, impassioned man. Tonraq curled his fists, brown knuckles whitening as he slowly ascending from the ground, head dipped low, and face overshadowed by a mat of wet, stringy hair.

"You… you haven't killed me," Tonraq stated dully, voice rough as grate.

Samuel smiled wickedly, eyes gleaming with specks of a bright, magenta pigment.

"Really? I didn't notice."

"But… you killed them… you _killed_ all those people. You did it, _you murdered_—without a thought, without, even a care…"

"Some people are disposable. The needs of the many outweigh those of the few."

Tonraq frowned, sniffing as he wiped away blood that leaked from his nose, and down, to below the parting of his lips.

"And who are you to make that calculation? Whose needs are you sacrificing for whose?" the chieftain sneered, eyes fixated on the boy.

"I already answered your question: the _many_. Duh."

"Who are _you?_"

The silence returned, its gaze judgemental, and eyes wide, even, bemused.

"So many questions, shouldn't you be suffering from the effects of PTSD by now?" the boy sighed, "You spoke with that man, didn't you? That dapper, alien man. He warned… everybody, after all. Tried to caution you about the seven. The seven pilgrims. And the wheel—that too, of course."

Tonraq squinted, clasping his chest as a searing pain raced through his spine, dispersing into his bloodstream and scorching his flaring arteries. The waterbender fell back to his knees, raising his head to again, scowl indignantly at his malevolent foe.

"Sorry about that," Samuel continued, his voice not sounding very apologetic, "I needed to be sure you wouldn't pester anything further out of me."

"It's—not a full moon," Tonraq panted, shakily inhaling a cold, bitingly sharp breath, "How are you bloodbending?"

The child's eyes seemed to gleam an impressively darker hue, sinister flecks of some violet shade now outlining black, caliginous pupils.

"I always considered the slow to misunderstand the small things, which make an art so much more. All those little tricks and which-what's, that appear to assemble one so much better. I used to never understand—how others—didn't."

There was a long, drawn out pause.

"So…" Tonraq coughed, before scoffing with confidence, "You're saying that you're a prodigy. And you're speaking about how you could never understand how things that came so easily to you, didn't, for _others_. In a strange way, you must think everyone is capable of what you are."

The boy looked astonished—shocked, too—revealing a youthful quality that was all but concealed in one, fleeting moment, before completely vanishing under the obscure veil of something far more stoic.

"You're smarter than you look."

"You still haven't answered me."

"And how is that?"

"My question. Answer it."

"Oh?"

"Who are you…?"

"_Yes?_"

Tonraq was quiet, pressing his lips tightly together, before asking, for a final time:

"…To make that calculation?"

Samuel grinned, his wide, knowing grin.

"I'm going to kill her, y'know. Then eat her."

The chief attempted to rise from the snow, face contorted with rage, intense loathing clouding his mind in a storm of antipathy.

"Why…?"

"She has to die."

"Why?"

"I must be the one to do it. I think…"

"Why!?"

"Don't you see?—you should know the answer."

"WHY!?"

Silence, again.

Tonraq felt a powerful, pulling force tug incessantly at his gut. It started tearing slowly, unnoticeable at first, but it rapidly grew in strength, ripping his insides and stretching bleeding organs. The waterbender wailed as he was yanked, face down, onto the bridge. As he was dragged, a trail of red was left, soaking white, crimson, in his writhing wake.

The bridge was then detached from the borders of the chasm's surface, rotating until 180 degrees adjacent to the elevated cliff face. The supports were slackened, fractured intentionally, before the bridge began to wobble, uncontrollably, swaying precariously from side to side.

"Why? How…?" the injured chief groaned, attempting to stand, hands pushing against the snowy bed of the severed bridge, as feet slipped, struggling to help straighten an aching back.

"Why haven't I killed you?" the boy drawled, eyes glinting a new, sinister hue, "I… respect you. Respect you, enough—to fight you, without the _blood control_. It doesn't really matter to me anyway. I can kill you just as easily with the, uh, _normal bending_—I suppose that's what you call it, no?"

The chief said nothing, his lips twisting with malice, and face bent, ugly.

"You're not going to bloodbend me? _Mph_, you're making a huge mistake. I'm not going to let you lay a finger on Korra. Not… One…. Finger."

"Then by all means, be an idiot," the child rolled his eyes, "Fight me."

Tonraq roared ferociously as he rushed towards the boy, bending water from the ground and lifting it in a halo, a hurricane of swirling, splashing liquid, about his arms and scapulae. Whilst propelling himself forward with great might, he hardened water floating, in excess, around his hands, forming sharp needle-like spikes that he unsheathed, savagely, as he ran to meet his snickering nemesis.

The boy laughed viciously, telepathically coalescing water behind him, gathering the floating fluid into a helical, whirling deluge, a torrent of cascading blue. The streaming helix diverged as it was pushed out, burst in front of him, and divided into tendrils of squirming, liquid death.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ha ha ha ha _ha ha ha_!"

**End of FINALE: PART 1**


End file.
